


Visiting Statue

by impishisaac



Category: Les Misérables - All Media Types, Les Misérables - Victor Hugo
Genre: Angst, F/F, F/M, Implied/Referenced Drug Use, M/M, One Shot, Romance, Yearning
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-12-17
Updated: 2020-12-17
Packaged: 2021-03-11 04:01:50
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 718
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28138863
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/impishisaac/pseuds/impishisaac
Summary: Cryptic, rambly Monty/Ponine drabble? They're both pining for someone else but they find comfort in each other and I just find that neat.Rated M to be safe, especially as I develop this, but it’ll never be Explicit
Relationships: Cosette Fauchelevent/Éponine Thénardier, Montparnasse/Jean Prouvaire, Montparnasse/Éponine Thénardier
Kudos: 3





	Visiting Statue

The way she looked always gave him a funny feeling. Deep in his chest, like a dull ache beneath his bones-- _no,_ inside his bones. In the very marrow of his skeleton, she existed, taking up space, occupying his person. He’d been possessed by his obsession with her captivating gaze.

_“Tell me to stay.”_

_“Would you if I asked?”_

_“Perhaps.”_

She entranced him with her laughter, taking hold of him with an invisible grasp, anchoring him to the floor at her feet. The sound of her joy was a fleeting wisp upon the wind, out of his reach, too quick for his shaking hands. The shadows persisting at the corners of his eyes would be kept at bay for a short time, if only he could hear that sound. The phantom auburn promise of a lover let go might be muted, the insistent command for a transporting escape might be quelled, if only he could hear that sound. He laid his dark head of hair upon her, glassy eyes against pallid thighs. Her fingers on his skin danced like maudlin fairies, drawing reluctant sighs from his heart. 

She was as lost as he, her mind occupied by golden curls, satin lips, delicate hands, a voice like a song. Her love had no boundaries, no hesitation. It soared above her head like a beacon, beckoning for the petal of a girl to permit her at least a glance, at least a smile, at least a touch. No distraction could dispute her heart’s yearning, no suppressant could depress her hope for success. 

Her fingers on his skin danced like maudlin fairies, while her soul danced around the radiant glow of the girl akin to a lark. 

_“It’s late.”_

_“When has that stopped us?”_

_“No, you fool. She’ll be meeting him now. In the garden.”_

Scarred knuckles graced scarred cheeks. 

_“A shame her heart has no room for two.”_

_“A shame I can not become the heart she deserves.”_

_“You can not change what the world has not granted you, Eponine. Why try? We are cast iron castaways, there is no melting and molding us into anything different.”_

_“Gold and granite cannot be compared.”_

_“You understand.”_

Their lips met in a wanton acceptance, granite against granite. Montparnasse was always better at pretending, better at escaping. He was the first to let loose his reluctance, giving himself over to the flightless dove at his chest. But she was first to smile, a flickering light in the dim hovel, dark eyes glancing across his fervent look. She could pretend, too. Yes, she could pretend like this. 

  
Perhaps it was her, perhaps it was him. The two damaged souls coiled around one another like tangled netting, neither present, both in a fantasy. _Dancing_ . Dancing was easiest in the night, without the revealing, dream-shattering presence of daylight. At night, perhaps it was _she_ who kissed Eponine so, yellow curls against her neck, slender fingers against her waist. At night, perhaps it was _he_ who grasped Montparnasse’s hair, red hair stealing his breath, perfect freckles stealing his kisses. 

_"She will be holding his hand now."_

_"Hold mine."_

_"She will be kissing him now."_

_"Kiss me."_

_"She will be--"_

_"Eponine."_

_"I know you dream of Prouvaire."_

_"He is not here. Kiss me."_

_***_

Montparnasse could have kissed her for an eternity. Did she know, the way his hands sought hers when she slumbered? The way he quietly wondered what she might be dreaming of. A pretty girl with pretty lips, no doubt, and Montparnasse was in no position to fault her for such dreams. Even his nocturne thoughts were not inhabited by Eponine’s image, but by a sweet boy with a sweet smile. Succulent boy, he was. So far removed from Montparnasse’s own circle of existence, so far above the hades he created in earnest around himself. Red hair and red freckles, red blush on his cheeks, red lips. Red words! Jean Prouvaire’s poetry lulled peacefully in Montparnasse’s memory each night. He could never hold a candle to the light Jehan shed upon the underworld. A candle held by Montparnasse bled wax of black.

  
Her eyes met his. Knowing his thoughts, knowing his torture. She shared them. They shared each other. Their souls would never belong to one another.   
  


_”Your mind drifts away?”_

_”Until the return of day.”_

**Author's Note:**

> ~~ Title derived from a song of the same name by Grimes! Great song to listen to while reading! ~~
> 
> ~~ This is a work in progress! The way I write is time consuming and takes a lot of mental energy, so I'll be working on it in chunks like this whenever I have the inspiration to do so! ~~


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